mercuryadonis Reviews

Saw (2004)

Jigsaw not happy.

[2/10 · 3 December 2005]

A fiendishly clever idea--for a 22 minute episode of, say, The Twilight Zone. But for a feature? Nope. Not without engaging characters, decent dialogue, a plausible story and a convincingly motivated villain. Saw plays out more as an assortment of potentially cool demo scenes strung into a threadbare and implausible story. Even the money scene--the reverse bear-trap--is marred by overly frantic camera movement and editing. The director has watched too many music videos and not enough Hitchcock. Basic storytelling and film-making skills are absent as is any command of actors, dialogue, mood and logic.

Unfortunately, none of that seems to matter any more as this film has already spawned a sequel and looks well on its way to becoming a franchise. The director/writing team are rich, successful and no-doubt convinced that they are the future of edgy film-making. Too bad, cuz now they'll never have the need to master the craftmanship necessary to add style and substance to their high-concept ideas. What a waste. Jigsaw not happy.

The World (2004)

See the world in a day.

[9/10 · 6 May 2005]

"The World" is set in the tacky eponymous Beijing theme park and details the lives of the alienated young workers who are spiritually and physically trapped there. It's a subtle, delicate, yet powerful film with a directing style that can best described as artfully unobtrusive. The young director/writer is a master of composition, camera movement and sound. Some of the scenes unspool without editing for several minutes, the camera mostly still, sometimes moving with the action but never on the whim of the filmmaker. Sound and dialogue occur off-screen in a way that reminds one of the great Japanese director Ozu. (Indeed, one of the film's inter-titled chapters is called "Tokyo Story".

One of the best examples of this style is a grimy hotel room scene between the lead couple in which very little happens--an attempted seduction, but no sex--that is so authentic it feels almost voyeuristic to watch. In another scene, a father counts and pockets four stacks of money bestowed to him by the authorities for the accidental death of his son, his face an expressionless mask that hides more pain than could ever be shown. In an opening scene the camera tracks a female dancer running through a theatre backstage, pleading for a band aid she will never get--thus slyly presaging the untreatable tragedies that will eventually unfold.

The central characters are so alone, alienated and unable to communicate in any meaningful way--much of the dialogue is spoken into the ubiquitous cellphones--that the closest any two people come together are two woman--one Chinese, the other Russian--who don't speak a word of each other's language.

This is the best kind of social commentary a film can offer, images that show and don't tell. At times it feels plodding--especially the last half hour--some of the characters could use more development, and the animated cellphone sequences seem unnecessary and distracting. But the depiction of contemporary urban China's deepening social malaise--the result of far too rapid urbanization and unchecked Westernization--is troubling enough to make one fear the country's--and the world's--future.

Chicago (2002)

Chicago! (step-pause-step) Chicago! (step-pause-step)...

[21 February 2004]

The age of the machine-musical has a given us a movie made by and for robots. There is more creativity and genuine emotion in a Tae-bo infomercial than this adrenalized, aerobicized, hyperventilating monster of a flick. To be honest I could only watch about half of it before the Tylenol container beckoned. Somewhere, Bob Fosse is rolling in his grave. Let's hope Rob Marshall doesn't fashion a musical out of that.

Catch Me If You Can (2002)

In Speilberg's world...

[5/10 · 2 January 2004]

Welcome to Steven Speilberg's world, a parallel universe where nuance, subtlety and personal interpretation are non-existent. In this world FBI agents are stumbling lead-footed stooges, wearing identical MIB suits and porkpie hats, who enter a suspected check-forger's apartment with handguns drawn, shouting "CLEAR!" as they stumble about from room to room. In this world a love scene must be accompanied by items on a bedside room service cart being knocked off one-by-one. A conversation between two secret agents must be shot in silhouette against an ominous blue background. A police station should be as glossily lit as a top European fashion emporium. The precocious hero must be able to escape an airplane lavatory in mere seconds, without tools, by removing 4 tiny screws. The love interest must be blonde, the in-laws stern, the failed father edgy, brittle and possibly nuts (Christopher Walken will do). And most of all the hero's dubious achievements must be shown to have benefited society in the long term and any of his character flaws attributed to youth, naivety and bad upbringing. After all, this is a movie and we can't have a fundamentally flawed hero or a morally ambiguous ending. Even if the said "hero" bilked countless innocent people out 4 million dollars.

It would be nice if just once Spielberg could depict a story or a sequence of events as they might realistically occur rather than having to plaster everything with his trademark gloss and worn-out directorial flourishes. It would be nice if you could come out of one of his movies with an opinion rather than an answer.

5 out of 10.

Signs (2002)

Swing away, M. Night, swing away...

[2/10 · 13 August 2003]

Unfortunately, he really strikes out with this one. And badly, awkwardly, spasmodically, hideously, idiotically. At one point, when J Phoenix stands staring at the expanse of corn-fields I expected Shoeless Joe and the rest of the Chicago Black Sox to come wandering out. Unfortunately, they don't. Instead, we just get some cheesy looking aliens, a somnolent Mel Gibson and a lot of unanswered questions--the main one being "What the f--- was the point of this?" Darned if I know. This shaggy-dog story should have been put to sleep when it was still a puppy.

One thing did stick in my mind, however. According to the director/writer/producer - and now actor - there are two kinds of people in this world: believers and non-believers. This should be amended to: there are 2 types of people: those who swallow the hype that Mr Shyamalan is the second coming of Hitchcock; and those who see him for the copy-cat imposter that he is.

The Passenger (1975)

Famous concluding shot worth the wait.

[9/10 · 7 August 2003]

Slow but well worth the time it takes to arrive at the shattering conclusion. Watch it more than once as there are many small visual cues and tips that add both to the plot and theme. Jack Nicholson is superb - and surprisingly low-key - as the jaded and detached reporter who switches identity with a dead man out of boredom more than anything else. Maria Schneider is fine in a somewhat underwritten role. The real stars however are Antonioni's restlessly roving camera and the sublime locations which include the Sahara desert, a cable-car, and that bewitching Gaudi rooftop in Barcelona.

Taxi Driver (1976)

Travis Bickle is the definitive Gotham City avenger...

[10/10 · 12 January 2002]

If only bad-ass cartoon characters like Batman and Spawn could muster one-tenth of the psychotic rage Travis Bickle possesses. Bickle's cape is the Vietnam Marine jacket that he wears throughout the film. The way "Bickle" is stenciled on the back it might as well be a giant "S" or the insipid Bat logo that various actors have exhibited though a series of pointless films. The whole film unspools like a dream that a Vietnam grunt could be envisioning while dying in a rice paddy on the other side of the world. (Oh, wait, that was Jacob's Ladder...) Travis is a gratingly rascist and moralistic character and the black pimps and drag queens he regards with such contempt through his cab window could be stand-ins for the Vietcongs he couldn't quite vanquish when he had the chance. His plan to assassinate the Presidential candidate is undertaken with the same ritualistic precision of a military mission. For Bickle the war has not ended and he has simply transposed the conflict onto the streets of New York. His bipolar view of the world--people are either angels like Betsy or "scum sucking scum" like Sport--is eerily prophetic of America's current perception of world events. (You're either with us or you're with the terrorists) When Travis wishes for "a real rain that'll wash the scum off the streets" he sounds chillingly like John Ashcroft or, Dubya, or even Guiliani (who almost accomplished what Travis couldn't) It's sobering to think that an outlook as disturbed and childishly naive as Travis' could morph into the mainstream point of view.

(POSSIBLE SPOILER) Current politics aside, the little coda at the end of the film, when Travis is back at his job, a reluctant hero among his fellow cabbies--albiet with a lingering soreness in his neck --has always mystified me. Could it be that that last ride with Betsy, whom Travis merely glimpses at through the mirror, is in fact his out of body release into death as he sits amidst the bloodbath back in the hotel room? I think Scorsese strongly implies this when De Niro takes one last look at himself in the overhead mirror and suddenly his face disappears from view. Notice the musical sting right when that happens. It's utterly chilling; a depiction of death more unnerving than anything I've ever seen in another film. (Or at least on par with the flash of white leader when a man shoots himself in Mean Streets.) The film is timeless and it reflects meaningfully, like a looking glass, on each era we pass through.

Badlands (1973)

A mesmerizing study of post-war suburban American angst.

[10/10 · 11 January 2002]

Director Terence Mallick used the actual events of a young serial killing couple from the 1930s and recast it as a poetic depiction of frustrated youth and alienation in the cultural wasteland of 1950s middle America. (SPOILERS!) Martin Sheen and a very young Sissy Spacek portray Holly and Kit, the disaffected couple who wind up on the lamb after a run-in with Holly's disapproving father. The victims they leave behind are collateral damage in Martin Sheen's futile bid to maintain the rebellious identity others have imposed on him because of his resemblance to James Dean. Sissy Spacek is more a passenger than participant and she narrates the proceedings with the cliched banality of the gossip magazines that she endlessly devours along the way. Beautiful images, perfectly nuanced music (Karl Orff) and low key acting styles by the leads create something that's more a tone poem on America and the shallowness of mainstream culture, rather than the sensationalist rant that "Natural Born Killers" presented 20 years later.